


Code of Service

by Enfilade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Fear of Death, M/M, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enfilade/pseuds/Enfilade
Summary: Leozack's insubordination is a problem for Deathsaurus.  Teaching Deathsaurus how to deal with it is a problem for Drillhorn.None of Drillhorn's War Academy training has prepared him to teach service discipline to a pair like this.
Relationships: Deathsaurus/Leozack
Comments: 8
Kudos: 27
Collections: Secret Solenoid '20-'21





	Code of Service

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BlazeCrysta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlazeCrysta/gifts).



> Content Warnings: This story is rated M. Themes of corporal punishment, superior/subordinate intimate relationship and power struggle, elements of fear in an established relationship, and mention of murder and cannibalism. No explict on-screen sex acts, but not quite a fade-to-black, either.
> 
> On the complicated Deathsaurus/Leozack dynamic – Deathsaurus and Leozack are neither biological siblings, nor raised together as human stepsiblings would be. Any references to Leozack/Lyzack as his “siblings” occur because Deathsaurus has no other words to describe a found-family relationship other than the words Leozack and Lyzack use to describe their bond, and not with the intent to suggest incestuous themes.

This was going to get awkward. 

Drillhorn didn’t bother asking what he’d done to deserve an assignment to a unit where he had to deal with situations like this. He already knew exactly what he’d done. 

Forged at the beginning of the war, Drillhorn had once been a respectable mechanism, a career soldier by choice, a graduate of the Polyhex War Academy. Serving in the armed forces, he’d seen the Senate’s corruption firsthand. When the war had broken out, Drillhorn had thrown in his lot with the Decepticons. At the time it had seemed like the moral thing to do. 

After two million years, Drillhorn had discovered the corrosive effect of authority. These days the Decepticon High Command wasn’t much different than the Senate. 

Still, Drillhorn had dared to posit a radical thesis. He believed that troops performed better in combat when they felt as though their commanders valued their lives. He also believed that Decepticon High Command had lost sight of their original purpose. Now they were all about gratifying themselves at the expense of the kinds of people that Decepticonism had been created to support in the first place. Saying so was enough to put Drillhorn on Deception High Command’s blacklist. Or perhaps his mistake had been putting his thesis to the test in combat. 

In punishment, he’d been sent to the battlefront, to the 895th Assault Unit. Scimitar’s squadron. His job there was to keep watch on the brilliant but unpredictable young MTO who was the unit’s commander and try to keep him in line. At least until he got himself killed. 

When Drillhorn had arrived at his new unit, he’d discovered Scimitar going by the name “Deathsaurus.” That was only the first of a long list of things in this combat unit that weren’t exactly done by the book. Deathsaurus’s command was a slapdash, haphazard affair, enough to give an Academy soldier nightmares. 

But one of the reasons that Drillhorn had lived this long on the front lines was because Deathsaurus had a genuine talent for strategy, leadership, and combat. Unfortunately, Deathsaurus also saw the world differently from most people, and had a gift for pissing people off. Drillhorn struggled to strike a balance between fitting in with Deathsaurus’s renegades and keeping his new commander from getting in trouble for breaking the wrong rules. 

The current situation was troublesome because it involved one of those rules that couldn’t be broken. 

Drillhorn didn’t know any other way to say it than simply and bluntly. “Commander, you can’t let Leozack get away with this.” 

Deathsaurus hung his head and sighed. “I know.” 

Drillhorn felt a little better. At least Deathsaurus understood that there was a problem. 

“Do you know what to do?” Drillhorn asked encouragingly. Sometimes Drillhorn felt a little uncomfortable at the idea of giving orders to a superior officer—even one as young and untrained as Deathsaurus. His official position was unit adjutant, but he tried to view himself as Deathsaurus’s coach. 

Deathsaurus looked up sharply. “You’re not suggesting I do the usual, are you?” 

Drillhorn was afraid to ask. “What’s _the usual_?” 

“Well…” Deathsaurus reverted to his beast form and paced the room of the command bunker, lashing his tail. “Usually when someone’s causing me problems, I just eat them.” 

“You _what_.” 

“I…eat them…?” 

# 

From the expression on Drillhorn’s face, Deathsaurus guessed that his adjutant hadn’t been expecting him to cannibalize Leozack. The first thing Deathsaurus felt was relief. He couldn’t imagine Leozack ever doing anything bad enough to make Deathsaurus want to kill him. Or maybe it wasn’t what crime Leozack committed. Maybe it was that Deathsaurus couldn’t bear to do harm to the mech he saw as a… 

Sibling? That was how he saw Lyzack, but his relationship with her brother was entirely different. 

Conjunx? There was nothing so formal among the MTOs of Deathsaurus’s acquaintance. Disposable soldiers didn’t stand on ceremony. 

_Friend_ was nowhere near strong enough. 

At any rate, Drillhorn was clearly not advocating Deathsaurus’s problem-solving method of choice. 

Which made Deathsaurus wonder how he _should_ deal with this problem.   
“I don’t even want to know,” Drillhorn said, rolling his optics. 

If Drillhorn really didn’t want to know, he wouldn’t have asked. Deathsaurus helpfully answered. “Killing and eating them is a decisive and permanent solution to the problem. It also recycles resources.” 

Drillhorn facepalmed. “Please don’t use that solution on Decepticons. Save it for Autobots.” 

Not just Leozack…but _any_ Decepticon? 

Even the _bad_ ones? 

Deathsaurus was still not that good at reading other people’s expressions, but he was pretty sure that Drillhorn wasn’t ready to have that conversation just yet. It was better if he just concentrated on the current issue with Leozack. 

The problem was that he had no idea how to deal with an interpersonal problem where killing and eating his adversary wasn’t an option. 

“So, for Decepticons, I should…” 

Drillhorn removed his hand from his face and took a deep breath into his vents. “All right. We’ll start from the beginning. What did Leozack do that was wrong?” 

That was easy. “He started strafing the Autobot fortifications before his ground support was in position, and he took the rest of the fliers with him.” 

Drillhorn smacked his face into his palm again. 

# 

Drillhorn lowered his hand, took another deep breath, and reminded himself that Deathsaurus wasn’t as clueless as he seemed. There was a sharp mind in there somewhere. He just had to help Deathsaurus figure out what an ordinary, rational soldier would think about a situation like this. 

“No, huh?” Deathsaurus had clearly understood Drillhorn’s facepalm gesture and knew he’d guessed wrong. He started looking for a hint. “The problem started before, or after?” 

“Before.” Drillhorn decided to guide Deathsaurus into figuring it out for himself. 

“When Leozack _told_ the other fliers to follow his lead.” 

“Yes. And that was a problem because…?” 

“They shouldn’t have been strafing the Autobot fortifications that soon.” 

Drillhorn groaned. How was he going to put this? “Did you tell them to start strafing that early?” 

“Of course not.” 

“So why did they do it?” 

“Because Leozack…” 

Drillhorn saw the light come on in the beast’s optics. “Because Leozack told them to,” Drillhorn confirmed. “Right _after_ you had told the fliers to…?” 

“Wait for my signal.” 

“So the problem is…” 

“Leozack showed initiative?” Deathsaurus tilted his head. “I thought you said that was a good thing.” 

“Leozack disobeyed orders,” Drillhorn said bluntly. “That’s _always_ a problem.” He held up his hand before Deathsaurus could argue. “I’ll agree that there are rare occasions when it’s appropriate to disobey orders. For example, if your leader is insane and behaving irrationally. But even if you _have_ to disobey, it’s always a problem and you _will_ pay a price for it.” Drillhorn knew this better than most people. “Even if it’s the right thing to do, you have to do it knowing you’ll be facing the consequences. Without consequences, everyone’s going to do it, even when it’s the wrong thing to do. Do you understand?” 

Deathsaurus stroked his beak with the tip of his tail, considering. “I think so.” 

“It’s especially risky because soldiers on the ground don’t have full knowledge of everything else happening on the battlefield. In the heat of combat, you don’t have time to explain to your soldiers why they’ve been asked to do a certain job or why a specific action is important. Commanders need to be able to rely on their troops to do as they’re told. Otherwise someone’s entirely well-meaning decision can result in unnecessary chaos, failed missions, and most importantly, needless loss of life.” 

“Which is why half my flyers are now in the medbay.” 

“Exactly.” Drillhorn was grateful that, for all his quirks, Deathsaurus responded well to logical thinking. “Yes, Leozack showed initiative, and yes, he distracted the Autobots and perhaps we won the battle more quickly because of it, but the resulting casualties were much higher than they would have been had we co-ordinated the airstrike with the ground assault.” 

“So I need to address this problem now, before it becomes a pattern of behaviour.” 

“Precisely.” 

Deathsaurus sighed and changed back to his bipedal mode. “How do I discipline someone in a way that lets them survive it?” 

# 

Leozack felt pretty pleased with himself. 

He wasn’t sure if Starscream had noticed his daring airborne assault, the way he’d hoped, but he _had_ gotten a mention in the vorn’s Despatches, written by someone named Triggerhappy. That meant the whole Decepticon High Command would have a chance to learn his name. If he got Mentioned in Despatches often enough, he would get a reputation as a young soldier to watch. Then he could get a transfer to the Air Academy in Vos and really _become_ someone. He knew he had the skill. He just had to overcome his misfortune in being built a MTO. 

And now Deathsaurus wanted to talk to him. Alone. 

Could only _one_ Mention be enough to get Leozack a meeting with Air Commander Starscream? 

“What’s the good news?” Leozack asked with a grin as he walked into the bunker that was the unit headquarters. 

For a brief moment, he thought about what would happen when he went to the Air Academy. He’d be leaving Deathsaurus and the rest of the squadron behind on the battlefront. Even when he graduated, he wouldn’t be coming back here. He’d be flying missions with a Seeker formation and returning to a warm, safe barracks far behind the front lines. 

But he’d never forget Deathsaurus. Or his sibling, Lyzack. He’d visit them every chance he got. 

Leozack realized with some surprise that he didn’t really want the cushy home and its relative safety—though he’d happily take it. And that he’d miss seeing Deathsaurus and Lyzack on a daily basis. But what he truly wanted was to be _seen_. Seen and recognized. As a respectable person, not just a piece of cannon fodder—something to be experimented on, shot at, and thrown away. 

Deathsaurus wasn’t smiling. 

Leozack’s grin slipped. 

“I,” Leozack said clumsily. “I got Mentioned in Despatches.” 

“You got half my flyers put in the repair bay.” 

_Oh_ . _That_ was why Deathsaurus was in such a foul mood. 

“Is Field Medic Requiem cranky about the extra work?” 

Deathsaurus’s glower got darker. 

For the first time, Leozack realized that Deathsaurus didn’t just look concerned. He looked _upset_. 

“Come on,” Leozack said, trying to lighten the mood. “Nobody died.” 

“ _This_ time.” 

“Des.” Leozack wrapped his arm around Deathsaurus’s waist. “We’ve talked about this. You can’t drive yourself crazy worrying about what _might_ happen. Someone _might_ die next time, or we _might_ get vaporized thirty seconds from now by an Autobot superweapon. Focus on what _really_ happened, not on hypotheticals.” 

Deathsaurus’s whole frame trembled under Leozack’s touch. “A problem _really_ happened.” 

Leozack realized that Deathsaurus wasn’t shaking because he was cold. Anxiety? 

Or barely surpressed rage? 

Leozack looked up, hating the sudden feeling of dread in his fuel tank. He couldn’t possibly be _afraid_ of Deathsaurus. Deathsaurus had never, ever done him harm. 

But there was no one else here to be the target of Deathsaurus’s fury. 

And Leozack had seen Deathsaurus’s anger up close on the battlefield. The mech was an apex predator, a creature designed for slaughter. 

“Do you know what went wrong, Leozack?” Deathsaurus’s voice was barely more than a whisper. 

That was when Leozack knew he was in _real_ trouble. 

He’d known Deathsaurus to growl and flare his wings and stop around, just to blow off steam, but this cold, restrained intensity had always been directed only at enemies. 

“Uh…” Leozack dropped his hand from Deathsaurus’s waist. “You don’t want me to go to the Air Academy?” 

That seemed to snap Deathsaurus out of it. He cocked his head, looking utterly bewildered. “What?” 

“I mean, it hasn’t happened yet. But I got Mentioned in Despatches. If Starscream takes notice of me, I might get promoted to a Seeker unit…” 

Deathsaurus curled his lip, displaying rather a lot of fangs. 

“Hey, it’s not that I don’t want to be with you or Lyzack or the whole crew. But I can do more for the war effort than just grunt infantry jobs. And if I can, don’t you think I should?” 

“Your _grandstanding_ put the rest of the flyers in danger.” 

Leozack felt a sinking feeling in his fuel tanks. 

He didn’t want to admit it, but Deathsaurus had always said he believed in facing the truth head-on. And the truth was that Leozack had known all along that he was doing something wrong. That he should have listened when Deathsaurus told him to wait for the signal that would indicate that the ground troops were ready to support the flyers. 

“I just…” 

He just… _what_? 

Leozack didn’t want to admit the truth. 

_I just thought you’d let me get away with it._

“You just wanted Starscream to notice you,” Deathsaurus mused. 

Leozack couldn’t exactly deny it when he’d just said as much. 

“You think you’d like to join a Seeker unit. You think that making a name for yourself is the way to get a transfer.” 

Leozack nodded. “Are you angry at the thought of me leaving?” 

Deathsaurus’s expression remained calm, even as his voice transformed from soft and thoughtful to taut and barbed. “I’m angry at the thought of your promotion being paved with the broken bodies of my troops.” 

“I…they didn’t have to follow me!” 

“You were their _commander_. Drillhorn tells me that _does_ mean they have to follow you if you tell them to.” Deathsaurus’s optics blazed. “The way _you_ have to follow _my_ orders.” 

“Oh, is _that_ the problem here? You’re listening to Drillhorn?” Leozack laughed. “Drillhorn’s got a spar up his aft. Sure, we should probably follow his advice when someone from High Command comes to inspect us, but we’re not actually going to do that chain of command stuff here, are we? We were doing just fine before Drillhorn transferred in.” 

“Before Drillhorn transferred in, it was just you, me, our sister, and Hellbat.” 

That was true. Then one day Drillhorn had shown up with a squad of newly created MTOs assigned to the 895th Assault Division. The division that had been commanded by the mech named Scimitar, before it had been completely wiped out, before Deathsaurus took over Scimitar’s name and identity and command. Before Deathsaurus had hidden two research-lab runaways and one cowardly MTO under the guise of the 895th’s last survivors. He’d done too good a job pretending his little family was a real military unit. High Command had sent him Drillhorn and the new recruits, and made him a field commander in earnest. 

“So?” Leozack said warily. 

“ _So_ there were only four of us and it’s a lot easier to direct three other people than the forty-eight mechanisms currently under my command. _You’re_ still commanding a small subgroup—my air wing. I’ve got to direct the entire division. Drillhorn is not wrong. I need to be able to trust my soldiers to follow my orders.” 

This was embarrassing. Humiliating. Leozack shouldn’t have to take a dressing-down from his friend. His lover. His _partner_. 

But he also felt the relief that came from knowing there was nothing to be afraid of. Deathsaurus might be scary-looking when he was angry, but he also wasn’t going to actually _do_ anything to his friend, his lover, his partner… 

…was he? 

“Fine, I’m sorry,” Leozack said. “Does that fix it?” 

Deathsaurus’s optics shimmered. His voice was very soft when he said, “I’m afraid that’s not good enough.” 

Leozack swallowed hard. Deathsaurus was horrifying when he was quiet. Leozack had seen Deathsaurus sneak up on a person and close his massive beak around their throat and shake them until they were dead in perfect silence. 

Leozack had to come up with something better. “I’ll visit all of the flyers and personally apologize for getting them hurt.” 

“Words are easy, Leozack. If words let us escape consequences, anyone would say them just to avoid an unpleasant outcome. There would be no need to actually _feel_ sorry. Nothing to think about when a similar situation occurred in future—except, perhaps, to remember how one got out of it the last time.” 

Funny, Leozack had thought that the blow to his pride from a public apology would be consequences enough to make him genuinely sorry. He supposed Deathsaurus didn’t really have much in the way of personal pride, and that’s why he didn’t care what people said about him. Deathsaurus just went through life doing what came naturally to an apex predator. 

And now, Leozack couldn’t guess what Deathsaurus was thinking. “So, um, what are you going to do to help me feel sufficiently sorry?” 

“Drillhorn says that twenty lashes is the common punishment.” 

_Twenty…_

Leozack was a _flyer_. His wings were sensitive. Twenty lashes was nothing for a tank with a hide of steel, someone like Killbison, but for an aircraft? He was going to be sore for _weeks_. 

And what if Deathsaurus smelled spilled fuel and lost control of his monstrous appetites? 

Leozack thought fast. He could make an appeal to logic. Deathsaurus wasn’t much for ceremonial behaviours. Surely Leozack could argue that it was a waste of time and materials for Deathsaurus to damage him in punishment only for Requiem to have to repair him again. And what good would he be if the Autobots attacked and he was still in recovery from his punishment? 

Leozack began organizing his thoughts, only to see Deathsaurus take an electrified whip from his subspace. 

“Please understand,” Deathsaurus said quietly. “I didn’t want to do this.” 

Leozack felt horrified for reasons he couldn’t name. 

Was it that his friend, his lover, his partner had been given military authority to issue corporal punishment? Was it a blow to Leozack’s pride to find out that he was not the equal of his partner—at least not in the military’s opinion? 

Or was it genuine fear that Deathsaurus might strike the first blow and find himself unable to stop? 

Deathsaurus wouldn’t want to kill him. Wouldn’t plan to kill him. But it might very well happen anyway. 

Deathsaurus was a predator, with a predator’s instincts, and a crippled flyer was a very tasty prey. 

No, Leozack couldn’t let Deathsaurus do that. It wasn’t just Leozack’s pride on the line. It might well be his life. 

But what could he do? 

He couldn’t attack Deathsaurus. He didn’t want to hurt his mate, and more importantly, he didn’t want to provoke a fight he couldn’t win. If he attacked, Deathsaurus would retaliate; energon would spill; Deathsaurus would go feral and maul Leozack to death. Whether Leozack accepted the punishment or fought against it didn’t matter. Either way would lead Leozack to the same gruesome end. 

What could he do to direct Deathsaurus’s thoughts in a different direction? 

Deathsaurus came closer. Close enough to touch. On any other occasion Leozack would _want_ Deathsaurus to touch him. Leozack liked so many things about Deathsaurus—his height, his broad shoulders, his raw power... 

He found those things attractive even now, as Deathsaurus stalked towards him. 

He was insane to be thinking such things at a time like this. 

Of course, plenty of Decepticons called Deathsaurus insane, too. Just because they didn’t understand his brilliant and daring and extremely unorthodox choices that always _worked so well._

Leozack saw his doom approaching and asked himself, _what would Deathsaurus do_? 

Deathsaurus raised his arm. The whip sizzled and crackled. 

_Do something unpredictable._

“Turn ar…” Deathsaurus never finished the sentence. 

Leozack jumped up on his tiptoes and pressed his mouth to Deathsaurus’s lips. 

# 

Deathsaurus froze with shock. His sensor suite ran an automatic sweep of his surroundings, which registered no danger. His instincts did not recognize Leozack so close to him as a danger. 

Or perhaps it was the heat he could feel radiating from Leozack’s frame. Or the way the sour scent of fear had been replaced by a musky aroma that Deathsaurus associated with… 

Oh. Right. The kiss. 

Deathsaurus shouldn’t be alarmed. He knew how to do this sort of thing. 

Deathsaurus did not have _wide_ experience in these matters, but he _had_ thoroughly mastered the techniques that Leozack liked. After all, Leozack was the one who had taught him. And Deathsaurus had always believed that if he could be bothered to do something, he could be bothered to do it _well_. 

So he folded his free hand around Leozack’s slender waist and slid his tongue between his lips until it touched Leozack’s. 

Leozack flinched, startled. 

Deathsaurus drew back and tilted his head curiously. It wasn’t like Leozack to not welcome… 

Leozack threw both arms around Deathsaurus’s neck and kissed him passionately, practically hauling himself up to Deathsaurus’s level. 

Deathsaurus flared his wings to keep his balance. He was going to need both hands to support Leozack. But one of his fists was occupied with… 

Primus help him. Deathsaurus had forgotten all about that stupid whip. 

Leozack’s lips were warm against his. Leozack’s frame was so sleek and smooth to touch. Deathsaurus would rather be doing that than hurting one of his own—no, not just one of his own. His _mate_. 

His job was to protect his people. Not hurt them. Especially not the one who touched him so tenderly. Who was so kind to a monster like him. 

Deathsaurus dropped the whip and folded both arms around Leozack. Leozack, for his part, wrapped his legs around Deathsaurus’s waist. 

Deathsaurus nipped at Leozack’s neck, making the jet gasp, and then ran his tongue over the area to soothe it. Deathsaurus had never really understood the appeal of play-biting—if he was going to bite, it was usually with the intent to do massive damage—but Leozack really liked this kind of thing and Deathsaurus enjoyed Leozack’s response, even if he didn’t understand it. “You’re causing me _problems_ ,” Deathsaurus growled in Leozack’s audio, and he wasn’t sure if he meant on the battlefield, in the berth, or in this so-called disciplinary encounter. 

This could not have been what Drillhorn had in mind. 

Leozack ran his fingertips over the curved beak on Deathsaurus’s helm. “Take me to the berth and I’ll see what I can do to fix them.” 

Deathsaurus felt a sudden pang. He was supposed to be acting like a _commander_ , not an animal in heat. Drillhorn said it was important. 

Deathsaurus couldn’t look after his soldiers properly if he couldn’t act like a commander. 

This quandry was Leozack’s fault, so Deathsaurus decided to make Leozack solve it. “Counteroffer. You fix those problems and I will _reward_ you in the berth.” 

“Deal.” Leozack’s expression brightened. “Um. _You_ might not care about me saying sorry, but the other flyers might like to hear an apology. That, and I should also thank them for having my back during that strafing run. _And_ let them know that what I did wasn’t appropriate, that I won’t be doing it again, and that _they_ shouldn’t try it.” 

“All right,” Deathsaurus mused. 

“So can we…” 

“You’re not done.” 

Leozack’s grin slipped. A moment later, a devilish gleam lit up his optic. “Are you sure?” he wheedled, running his fingers over Deathsaurus’s left finial in an extremely distracting way. 

Deathsaurus clamped together his back teeth and growled. 

Leozack’s hand grew still. “What else do you want?” 

Deathsaurus thought. “Apologizing to the flyers will make up for your slight against _them_ , asking them to follow you into danger because you were chasing your own glory. But it does nothing for your slight against _me_.” 

# 

Leozack couldn’t believe his mad gambit had worked. 

Far be it from him to stop while it was still working. He tickled Deathsaurus’s chin and cooed, “And you don’t want to take out that slight in the berth?” 

Deathsaurus froze. 

Leozack jerked his hand away and realized, with a sinking feeling in his fuel tank, that he’d pushed it too far. 

But Deathsaurus’s brow furrowed and he said sadly, “What could I _take out on you_ that you wouldn’t happily _give_ me under normal circumstances?” 

Suddenly Leozack realized he’d been rather looking forward to an intimate punishment. But that was because he’d stopped fearing that Deathsaurus would really hurt him. He’d been thinking of this punishment as a game. 

Deathsaurus tended to take things very literally. Leozack wasn’t sure he could explain dominance games to his partner. He definitely couldn’t do it _right now_. He wanted to skip all this talking and get to the berth. 

“Why are you always so serious?” Leozack muttered. 

Deathsaurus flinched as though Leozack had hit him. 

Leozack suddenly felt sick. 

Deathsaurus was always so serious because if he wasn’t—if he let his guard down, even for an instant—the beast in him would urge him to prey on anyone smaller and weaker than he was. Which was almost _everyone_. And Deathsaurus’s instincts still struggled to differentiate between friend and foe. Through the crosshairs of hunger, everybody Deathsaurus saw registered as _food_. 

Deathsaurus’s world had no margin for error. 

Deathsaurus set Leozack back on his feet. Then he leaned over and cupped the frills at the side of Leozack’s helm. “Why are _you_ always so cavalier?” he whispered. 

That was when Leozack saw the solution. 

“How’s this for restitution,” Leozack murmured. “In reparation for my slight against you, I need to pay you back for the materials that Requiem used repairing the flyers. I broke them, so I have to fix them. No shanix out of the squadron spending account. No need for the rest of the troops to go without anything because of what I did. After that…” Leozack drew a ragged breath. “After that, if I’m truly sorry, I have to act it. I have to be a role model for the new MTOs.” 

“You’d be good at it,” Deathsaurus said, much to Leozack’s surprise. 

“I…what?” 

“You’re very skilled. It’s probably normal that you want recognition for it. But don’t go chasing that recognition from someone like Starscream. That mech is so wrapped up in himself, he’ll never notice you—unless he wants to use you for his own ends. Far better to be someone your own people will respect.” Deathsaurus ran his fingers along the leading edges of Leozack’s wings. “Role model. How lucky I would be to have a whole squadron of Leozacks.” 

“Hey. I’m not letting a whole squadron of anything into your berth. That’s _my_ job.” 

Deathsaurus smiled wolfishly. His optics shone with an entirely different kind of hunger. “Then may I invite you to prove how good you are at your job?” 

# 

Drillhorn paced outside the bunker, stun gun in hand, and wondered if he’d made a big mistake. 

He told himself that the 895th needed battlefield discipline to prevent unnecessary deaths and failed missions. That he and Deathsaurus had to nip insubordination in the bud before all the troops started following Leozack’s lead. 

But maybe he shouldn’t have urged Deathsaurus to carry out the traditional War Academy punishment. 

Because Deathsaurus wasn’t a traditional War Academy officer. He was an apex predator that had learned to walk upright; a self-domesticated beast. How long before Deathsaurus found the whip an inferior replacement for his own claws? How long before the scent of spilled fuel and the sight of injured prey overcame Deathsaurus’s self-discipline? 

Drillhorn hadn’t wanted to get Leozack _killed._

And he didn’t want to deal with a Deathsaurus who’d just murdered his closest companion. Most of all, he didn’t want to be the one responsible for causing that nightmare. 

There was no sound of screaming from the bunker. That was even _worse_. Drillhorn had seen Deathsaurus strike. Growling and shouting and blowing smoke rings from his beast form’s jaws—those were warnings. A Deathsaurus that had made up his mind to kill did not give warnings. 

Drillhorn had to do something. 

He looked down at the stun gun in his hand and wondered if it would be enough to give Deathsaurus pause, or if the provocation would simply make him the next victim. 

But Drillhorn was a career soldier, and he did the right thing, not the easy thing. 

He opened the door of the bunker. 

Then he heard a low moan. 

Leozack was still alive, at least, but for how much longer? 

Drillhorn lit his optics. For some reason it was very dark in here. All the lights were out. And… 

A pillow hit Drillhorn square in the face. 

“Can we have some privacy, please?” Leozack demanded. 

“What in the Pit?” Drillhorn glared at Deathsaurus, saw him on the berth with Leozack, and felt his faceplates overheating. Drillhorn dragged his gaze to the ceiling, where he delivered a stern lecture to the deactivated light bars overhead. “You were supposed to be _disciplining him_ , not…” 

“Do you want me to follow protocol or do you want me to fix the problem?” Deathsaurus demanded, his breathing harsh, as though he’d been exerting himself. 

He probably _had_ been exerting himself. Drillhorn couldn’t think about that right now. “I fail to see how fragging your Air Commander through the berth fixes the problem!” 

“Why, I’m just showing Leozack what he’ll miss out on if he persists in disobeying orders. Insubordinate officers sleep on the floor, you know.” 

“Wait, what?” Leozack demanded. 

“Didn’t I mention that?” Deathsaurus’s voice was a rich purr. “If it happens again, you won’t be welcome in this berth.” 

“That’s _cruel and unusual_...” 

“Oh, hush. You’ve already found a solution to the problem, haven’t you? And…” Deathsaurus chuckled. “Now you know what you stand to lose.” 

Drillhorn supposed that Deathsaurus had found his own way of dealing with the situation. If it was anything like Deathsaurus’s usual style, it would be both extremely unorthodox and highly effective. So far, Deathsaurus definitely had the unorthodox part down. 

Drillhorn groaned. “Please tell me you’re not using this disciplinary measure on everyone.” 

Silence. 

Interrupted by Leozack squawking, “What? You’d better _not_ be…” 

“That depends.” Deathsaurus laughed again. “On if you force my hand by your behaviour.” 

“You wait and see where I force your hand,” Leozack said with a giggle. 

Drillhorn had already heard more than enough. “Can I be dismissed?” he said, hating the pleading note in his voice. 

“Oh. Yes,” Deathsaurus said, his final word cut off by a gasp and a slow mew. 

Drillhorn wasted no time in performing an abrupt about-face, opening the door, and closing it behind him. 

Leozack was alive, well, and apparently having a great time. Drillhorn shouldn’t complain about Deathsaurus’s technique as long as it worked. 

But this _unit_. Drillhorn whimpered. This unit was going to be the death of him. 


End file.
